When I was nine, I’d sit cross-legged on the floor, completely absorbed in National Geographic. Afternoon light spilled across the pages as I traced my fingers over photographs—vast landscapes, unfamiliar faces, stories that felt bigger than me.
I dreamed of being an explorer. Not just to collect stamps in a passport, but to discover—to uncover hidden worlds, to feel deeply connected to something beyond myself, to live in a state of awe. And to share those stories with the world.
But then life told me to be practical.
“You’re just a girl.”
“That’s not a real job.”
“How would you earn a living with that?”
So, like many of us, I tucked that dream away and chose the path that made sense. I became an economist—successful on paper, but quietly yearning for something more.
That quiet ache never left. It surfaced in fleeting moments—a pang of longing, a whisper of what if. I told myself it was too late, too risky, too impractical. Maybe one day.
Then everything shifted.
A bone tumor forced me to confront my own fragility, to ask the question I’d been avoiding: What kind of legacy do I want to leave behind?
It was my turning point. I left behind the boardrooms and the safety of the conventional path. I stepped into the unknown, following the pull of my heart. With no experience, connections, or finances to start something like this. And battling with the thought “Who do you think you are to do this?”
Since then, I’ve walked from village to village, sitting and learning beside women weaving threads dyed from leaves and bark—each one a testament to generations of wisdom, strength, and quiet defiance. I listened to their stories, felt their laughter, their unbreakable spirit.
And that’s why this moment feels so meaningful. Nine years later, the wisdom of our Ibus is featured in National Geographic!!
The same stories that inspired me to choose the path less taken—the ones that transformed my life.
It feels like coming full circle.
Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine that the world I’d help uncover would be here, woven by the hands of women who were once invisible. Now seen. Heard. Celebrated.
Because so many of us have felt that spark of curiosity—that longing to live a life filled with wonder and connection. And so many of us have been told to shrink, to settle, to silence that pull.
But those dreams we tucked away? They never really disappear. They wait for us, quietly, until we’re ready to remember.
So I want to ask you:
What dream did you leave behind?
Maybe—just maybe—it’s still waiting for you.
And maybe now is the time to pick it up, to follow that thread of curiosity back to yourself.
Thank you for walking this path with me. For believing in a world where hidden stories are seen, where every thread matters. This is our full-circle moment—and I can’t wait to see what we uncover together.
With love and gratitude, while bouncing off the walls,
D
